Saturday evening, the week's hired film, click-click, click-click br while we chewed fruit gums and shouted FOCUS! br from time to time when the reel changed; br and after The White Hell of Pitz Palu br or The Lost Horizon, and Mickey in black and white br and Corky the Cat; after the hired films br and the occasional black potato growing on the screen br when the celluloid caught fire, br the home movies run backwards: br and the world was a magic kingdom - br things jumped from nowhere into your hands br like the world's top ball player; br while you ate, the plate filled instead of emptied; br and the happy smiles-for-the-camera br became inane dissociated grins br as if you knew you were being totally idiotic br but had no control... br br Suppose br that life, on Saturday evening, did just that for real: br Saturday's trashy film would take on the solemn br inevitability of Greek tragedy; br shoplifting would be an act of humble charity br as one slipped the goods- blink-back onto the counter; br and we the older would look so eagerly forward br to childishness and irresponsibility br (as we alas will; but then more agile and more loved with it) : br like teenagers, go to bed alert and wake up tired... br and in the bathroom - no, let's not go there... br br and then at midnight, Cinderella Time would revert to real time. br Boing..oing..oing.. br br But under the covers as we blissed off to sleep, br a great big, wrinkled, toothy grin...